


A Life in the Middle

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (briefly and not explicit), Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Aromantic, Aromantic Bucky Barnes, Artist Steve Rogers, Asexual Character, Asexual Steve Rogers, Asexuality, M/M, Masturbation, POV Multiple, Skinny Steve, Winter Soldier-Sized Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: Shield Industries wanted a mural to brighten the foyer of their building. When Steve took the job he was expecting a paycheque and some name recognition, not a crush he knew was deepening into something more. Bucky was a little annoyed to get stuck riding herd on the artist Shield hired. He was building security 2IC; he didn't have time to stand around and watch someone paint, but it was the CEO's pet project, so watch he would. He wasn't expecting to wind up taking a lot of cold showers. He wasn't expecting to make a friend, maybe the best friend he'd ever had.Neither of them expected to get attached. Neither of them expected to want the other. Problem is their wants don't align: Steve's asexual, Bucky's aromantic, and nothing's ever going to change that. But love doesn't have to mean sex, romance is only one kind of love, and if two people of good heart want it badly enough maybe they can make a life in the middle.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for [Asexual Awareness Week 2016](http://www.asexualawarenessweek.com/) (though I've wanted to write an ace/aro fic for awhile now, so this seemed like a good time).

The building was _impressive_ , the foyer not so much a foyer as a glass and steel entrance to another world, one where capitalism reigned supreme and appearance was everything. _Since capitalism's paying you an obscene amount of money to make this place look a little less sterile, you might want to tone down the rhetoric_. Steve grinned, amused at himself, but places like this always made him feel a little fighty.

The scaffolding was already set up, roped off from the rest of the space and stretching up the wall where their mural was going to be, tubs of paint stacked neatly off to one side. Knowing how out of place he looked, he made his way through the suited workers and headed for the security desk. He was issued with a pass and told to wait for Mr Barnes, who'd be in charge of supervising him during his time at Shield Industries.

Steve passed the time imagining what Mr Barnes was going to look like. He'd just about decided on early sixties, close to retirement, maybe a bit of a fuddy duddy, or possibly a kind old Grandpa type who'd regale Steve with stories of when Shield was a tiny little one building business and how they'd fought their way up to the mega-corp they were now.

"Mr Rogers?"

Steve looked up from his musings to meet the storm-grey eyes of _definitely_ not an old man. Steve guessed late twenties, around Steve's age. He was tall and broad, Steve barely came up to his nose, with dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. He was _beautiful_ in a way that made Steve itch for a paint brush or a sketchbook or something so he could capture it. "Steve, not Mr Rogers. No cardigans and I'm definitely not that nice. You're Mr Barnes?"

"Yes, but call me James if you're going by Steve." He gestured at the scaffolding and the tubs of paint. "Do you want to have a look, make sure everything's there?"

"Sounds good."

It didn't take Steve long to check that everything was, in fact, there, and get set up. The whole time, James stayed close by. When he was ready to climb onto the scaffolding, Steve turned and asked, "Are you going to hover the whole time?"

"That's my job, at least while you're here," he said with a little smile and a _what can you do_ shrug.

"They know this is going to take at least a month, right?" James nodded, looking briefly annoyed, and Steve grinned. "I'm guessing this wasn't your idea?"

"This project is very important to the CEO. If she wants me to supervise it, I'm happy to supervise it," James said, voice smooth but something vaguely disgruntled in his expression.

Steve grinned wider. "Then you can make yourself useful," he said and climbed nimbly up onto the scaffolding, James' eyes following him. "Pass me those." He pointed at the stack of brushes and paints on the floor.

There was a moment when Steve wasn't sure he would, then he smiled. "And your last servant died of?"

"He's alive and well, but he left me for a travelling circus," Steve said mournfully. "I never really got over the betrayal."

James laughed softly, rich and warm, filling the air around them, and started passing things up to Steve.

 

* * *

 

"Hey."

Steve was lost in his work and he frowned in irritation at the voice that was trying to intrude.

"Hey. Steve." The world shook slightly and he scowled. A light touch on his shoulder, gentle and fleeting, pulled him back. James was standing on the scaffolding, looking down at him. "You with me?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

"Us, for a start." Steve rolled his eyes and James grinned. "Do you think it's time for a break?" When Steve only blinked in confusion, he sighed. "It's after seven. There's this little thing called dinner, don't know if you've heard of it, but it's where you put food in your body so you don't pass out, fall off the scaffolding, bust your head open and condemn me to hours of paperwork."

"Good to see where your priorities are."

James made a face. "I hate paperwork."

"Rude."

"I'll make up for it by sharing my lasagne if you promise to come down and eat something."

"Is it that frozen dinner for one crap?"

James looked deeply offended. "It's homemade. From scratch. Besides if it was dinner for one I wouldn't share it with you. Come on, you can come back after you get some food in you."

Steve realised he was actually hungry and lasagne sounded a hell of a lot more appealing than his sandwich. "Deal. Give me a minute to get this paint covered up." 

He'd been working on the mural for just over a week, James dutifully hovering as his designated Shield handler. They'd realised the first day, as James had spent most of his time fending off gawkers and fielding complaints from people about the smell of the paint, the presence of chemicals that were going to give them all cancer, or interfere with their detox, or with their all organic diet ( _Is he going to eat the paint?_ Steve had muttered. _Best not to ask_ , James had replied under his breath) that it would be much easier for Steve to do his work in the off-hours as much as possible. Which was why they were both still here at seven PM and would both be here until well after midnight.

Steve had felt a bit bad at first, but James had shrugged and said it didn't worry him.

There was a strange sort of bond that grew between people when they were together that late at night. Security personnel would wander through on their rounds, would come looking for James to ask questions or get instructions, since he turned out to be second in charge of security for the building (which had surprised the hell out of Steve, because why would someone that important be babysitting him? He guessed James hadn't been kidding when he'd said the mural was important to the CEO). Despite that they were mostly alone and Steve felt like they were getting close. They'd talk when Steve was working on a fiddly bit that meant his attention was in the here and now, conversation rambling from the utterly mundane—where did you go to school, what's your favourite colour—to the utterly ridiculous—who'd win in a fight, Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny? Those ramblings were how James had found out Steve was taking the bus home. Steve still wasn't sure how he'd wound up agreeing to let James drive him instead, but somehow it had happened.

James was _nice_ , he'd discovered, in addition to being beautiful, and funny and kind. These weren't discoveries that were great for Steve's peace of mind. If he was going to start feeding Steve on top of all that, Steve thought he might be doomed.

He followed the smell of lasagne into the security break room—somewhere he'd spent more than a little time over the last week, since they'd been eating together every night—and sat at the table. When James set a plate with a huge piece of lasagne in front of him he said, "You know I'm not too skinny because I'm a starving artist, right? This is just me. You don't have to fatten me up."

"I don't think you're too skinny," James said, sitting across from him with his own piece. "And don't you need a garret to be a starving artist?"

"I could have a garret."

"I've seen your apartment building, Steve. It's not full of garrets."

"They could keep the garrets around the back, _James_. You don't know."

James fiddled with his fork, not quite looking at him. "Bucky."

"What?"

"Call me Bucky? Short for Buchanan, it's my middle name." He looked up. "Only work people and people who are mad at me really call me James."

A tiny seed of warmth sprouted in Steve's heart. "Okay, Bucky."

Bucky grinned at him and Steve felt himself slip, just a little. _Doomed._

 

* * *

 

The mural was getting close to done and the foyer had personality and life and brightness. Steve was standing on the floor now, the scaffolding pushed to one side. Bucky watched in fascination as Steve turned tubs of lifeless paint into rippling water. He didn't really understand how Steve did it, his long slender fingers wielding the paintbrush with delicate precision.

He knew he probably shouldn't be staring, but he didn't think Steve minded. Of course, he was pretty sure Steve didn't know Bucky wasn't staring purely out of aesthetic appreciation for his art. That _was_ part of it, it just wasn't the only reason. Bucky had it completely under control, and he had absolutely no intention of ever acting on it, but he was painfully, stupidly attracted to Steve. His slender strength, his bright blue eyes, the way he moved with utter confidence, daring the world to tell him no, to take him on. Bucky sometimes couldn't breathe with it and had to stand behind the security desk until he could get his body to calm the hell down.

Steve glanced over his shoulder and met Bucky's eyes. "Do you want to try?"

"And wreck your painting? I don't think so."

"You won't wreck it. Come here." Steve beckoned to him, pointing to a spot in front of the mural. "Come stand here." Bucky did as he was told, somehow not able to say no to Steve, and Steve put the paintbrush in his hand, then stepped up behind him, half leaning into him as he folded his fingers around Bucky's. Every nerve ending in Bucky caught fire and he clamped down on his reaction, thought of cold showers and ice floes and summoned every unsexy image he could think of. Steve's body pressed warm against him made him want to turn and slide his arms around Steve and... No. He cut that train of thought off right there.

"Bucky?"

"Sorry, just distracted for a second." He caught a look on Steve's face sometimes, it made him think Steve might be interested, but if he was right—and he wasn't sure, there was something that made him think he might be reading Steve wrong—that was even more reason not to act on it. Because if he _was_ right, the things Steve would want were the things he couldn't give.

"Well, pay attention." Steve sounded amused. "I know it's late, but we're going to make art."

"We're going to make a mess, you mean."

"Will you just trust me?" Steve started to guide his hand across the wall, applying gentle pressure, and Bucky watched their hands move together to create a ripple in the river. Watched as their hands moved together to create art. He glanced over his shoulder at Steve, who was frowning in concentration as he moved Bucky's hand. Steve was one of the best people he'd ever met, was rapidly turning into a true friend. Bucky wasn't sure exactly what he'd done right to end up with him in his life, but he couldn't help wondering if it would last once the mural was done.

"I trust you, Steve." It came out more serious than he meant it to and he wanted to snatch the words back.

There was a brief moment of silence, then Steve squeezed his hand. "Me too, Bucky."

 

* * *

 

The mural was finished, a glorious vista of the natural world dominating the foyer of steel and glass. Only Bucky could see the little touches that were all Steve: a hidden face in the leaves of a tree, poking its tongue out at passers-by, the deer and her fawn, deep in the shadows where you'd have to look, _really look_ , to find them, the corner of the river, painted with Steve's skill but executed with Bucky's hand.

"You have to sign it, too." It was almost three am, everything was packed up, ready to be collected the next day. The CEO would still have to inspect it, but Bucky knew she'd be thrilled. Then there'd be an official launch, with VIPs and cocktails and all the hoopla and carry-on that involved. But right here, right now, it was finished. Which meant Steve was leaving. And was standing in front of Bucky, that stubborn look on his face, insisting Bucky sign it.

"Steve."

"Nope. Technically it's a joint work. That means you sign it. Or I'm not leaving."

He couldn't stop the rueful smile that spread across his face. "In that case I'm never gonna sign it and you'll have to stay here forever."

"Hey." Steve's brows pulled down as he looked up at him, blue eyes bright and clear. "You know we're friends, right? Actual friends, not just 'I met you once on a job and we got along and now I never talk to you again'. If you think me being done here means you're getting rid of me you're in for a hell of a shock."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," he said firmly in that voice that shot straight down Bucky's spine like fire. "Now sign the damn painting."

He signed, deep in a shadow under the fawn where anyone who saw it would mistake it for a scrawl or a slip of the paintbrush. He felt stupid doing it, but the smile on Steve's face was worth it.

 

* * *

 

True to his word, Steve wasn't going to let Bucky go easily. The Friday after the mural was done he invited him out for drinks with his friends. They were sitting at their usual table when Bucky arrived. Steve felt someone at his shoulder and looked up to find Bucky smiling down at him. He smiled warmly back. "Gang, this is Bucky. Bucky this is Natasha, Sam, and Clint." He pointed to each of them in turn.

Bucky gave a small wave and then said, "Hey, Natasha."

"Bucky." Nat nodded politely. "I didn't know you knew Steve."

"I've been supervising him while he painted the mural down at Shield HQ."

The look Nat turned on him was, Steve wasn't sure what it was. "I see. Grab a seat, grab a drink, make yourself comfortable."

Bucky slid into the chair next to him and his shoulder brushed Steve's. Steve couldn't help leaning into him, just a little. To offer him some reassurance in the face of Nat's inscrutableness. That was all. "You know Natasha?"

"I go to her gym."

"Small world."

"It can be, yeah."

It was nice having Bucky there with his friends, nice to see him somewhere other than the Shield building or Bucky's car. It made Steve feel like they were really friends, like it was sustainable outside of the weird liminal space that had been their relationship up to this point. Not that it was a relationship. They were just friends. _Shut up, Steve._

He bought Bucky a drink, Bucky bought a round for the table, there were more drinks to celebrate the mural, which Bucky described in detail, strong hands sketching it in the air for the others, and Steve was more than a little tipsy when they broke for the night.

Bucky offered to see him home, making Steve bristle—because however he might or might not feel about Bucky he didn't need looking after—and Natasha suspicious. Bucky held up his hands and offered Steve an apologetic smile. "Force of habit," he explained. Steve softened completely, Natasha looked even more suspicious, and Steve and Bucky wound up sharing a taxi.

 

* * *

 

"Enough, Nat. You're going to kill me." Steve flopped to lie down on the mat with a groan, panting harshly. He may have been exaggerating slightly, but only slightly, because Nat was ruthless.

She grinned down at him. "You're only mostly dead and mostly dead means slightly alive."

"Really? Princess Bride references?"

She shrugged and gracefully sat next to him. "You're getting better."

"Oh good, my death won't be in vain. You can put that on my tombstone," he said as he sat up. "He died getting better."

"You're the one who wanted me to teach you to defend yourself," Nat pointed out.

"Only because you wouldn't shut up about it!" Steve turned a look of outrage on her, because she'd gone on and on about how she knew he could take care of himself but people would look at him, short and skinny, and maybe see an easy target, and also if he was going to keep getting into fights with people maybe it'd be great to actually _win_ some, until he'd finally given in and agreed to let her teach him just to get her to _stop._

"This is true," she admitted without a trace of guilt.

"Why are we friends again?"

"Because you love me."

"Oh that's right, I knew there was a reason." They grinned at each other and Steve let out a quiet sigh because he knew what was coming.

"So, tell me about Bucky," Nat said and yup, there it was.

"I thought you already knew him."

"I know of him, I wouldn't say I _know_ him. He trains here, we're not exactly best friends, but he's pretty well known. From what I hear he doesn’t have anyone I'd really describe as a friend." She fixed him with a sharp look. "Except he looked pretty friendly with you."

"Nat, could you not? We looked friendly because we're friends."

"I know you, Steve. Be careful, okay?" She reached out and ran her hand through his hair.

"Why, is he dangerous?" Steve couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"I've seen him train, and yes, very. But that's not what I meant. He's," she shook her head, "not wired like you."

"And this is a surprise because?" Steve gave her an unimpressed look. "Almost no one is."

She sighed. "Not what I meant, ace-up-my-sleeve." Steve smiled a little at the nickname only Nat was allowed to use and she leaned over to kiss his forehead. "Just be careful."

"I'll be fine, Nat. He's my friend. That's all."

 

* * *

 

Steve wasn't precisely fine. Not that he'd ever let on that the friendship which had started to slip into a vague crush was starting to slip into something a lot more definite. Something he'd have to define, if forced at gunpoint to do so, as: would very much like to date and also kiss and cuddle and be kissed and cuddled by.

Luckily no one was ever going to hold that hypothetical gun to his head, so he could keep right on pretending the more definite feelings didn't exist.

The more time he spent with Bucky now that they were outside of Shield, the more he realised that Nat was right: Bucky didn't really have any _friend_ friends. Not people he was really close with. He knew lots of people: people from work, people from the gym, people from Steve wasn't sure where—anytime they were out together they were certain to run into someone who knew Bucky. Whoever it was would stop and say hi, would sometimes stay and chat for bit, but it was always superficial, there was never any mention of catching-up in the future; it was surface-level friendliness and nothing more.

Which was fine, Steve was sure as shit not going to criticise how someone chose to live their life, but it made him sad because Bucky seemed to have so much to give, so much affection inside him that seemed to be aching to get out. 

Steve found himself at Bucky's a lot, eating his food—Bucky was an incredible cook and Steve kind of wanted to never leave because of that alone—and watching movies, sometimes good, sometimes bad. Steve preferred the latter, because Bucky could bring the snark like no one Steve had ever met.

Late at night, when Steve was curled up on one end of the couch and Bucky was stretched out on the other, he'd sometimes think about it. Think about saying: hey, do you maybe want to date me? Do you maybe want to give this a try? Oh, and by the way, sex is never going to be an option, so I hope you're okay with that.

Steve had long since made peace with who he was but it still didn't make the prospect of having that conversation, and the possible unpleasant reactions to it, any more appealing. Not that he thought Bucky would be that kind of asshole, but still. With no sign that Bucky was interested, it was better just to keep going with things as they were.

Even if sometimes he wanted Bucky to put his arms around him so badly he ached a little. 

 

* * *

 

Steve slammed into the mat, only managing to tuck and roll at the last minute to avoid faceplanting and a possible broken nose. He pulled himself back to his feet to find Nat glaring at him. "What?"

"If you're not going to focus we're not going to keep going."

"I'm focused."

"Steve. That move hasn't taken you down in over a year. Wherever you are it's not here, so how about you tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on." He avoided her eyes. A long silence was her only response and he snuck a look at her. She had her 'I will wait here all night and into the next day and until the universe ends and then I will keep waiting' face on. He sighed. "I wasn't careful."

She raised an eyebrow.

"With Bucky."

She was instantly alert, reaching out to grab his arm. "Did he do something? Did he hurt you?"

"Nat, no! Bucky would never hurt me." Steve knew that in his soul, in his bones, the way he knew the sun would rise tomorrow. To her doubtful look, he said, "No, this is all on me."

He didn't try and hide anything as she studied him and her grip on his arm softened, turned gentle. "Oh, Steve."

"I know."

"I told you."

"I know."

"Does he know?"

"No." Steve slumped to sit on the mat, his arm pulling out of her hand. "I thought about telling him, but—"

"I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

Nat sat in front of him, her knees brushing his, and gave him a long look. "You have to understand how much gym people gossip. And that ninety percent of the Shield security team trains here, and they gossip even worse."

Steve snorted. "Got it, this is a haven for gossip."

"And you know what Bucky looks like."

Steve's eyes went soft. "He's beautiful."

"To you he's beautiful. To just about everyone else he's sex on a stick and they want to climb him like a tree. And he's happy to give them the opportunity."

"What are you talking about?"

"He doesn't date. He's never been in any sort of relationship as far as anyone knows. He sleeps with a lot of different people, never long term, never serious. He's up front with them, makes it clear that he's interested in sex only, nothing else."

"How sure are you?"

"Very sure. I did some asking around." When Steve narrowed his eyes, she shrugged and added, "Discreetly."

Steve was quiet, turning that over. It explained all the people Bucky seemed to know, all the superficial small talk.

"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it, but Bucky wants one thing from other people and it's the one thing you can't give him. He's only going to be interested in someone..."

Bitterness he thought he'd long since left behind drove the word out of his mouth. "Normal?"

Natasha rested her hands on his knees. "You _know_ that's not what I was going to say."

"But it's true."

"Steve, don't say that."

He patted her hands then rose to his feet. "I'm not feeling it tonight, Nat. You're right. I'm not focused. I'm going to go."

He could feel her wanting to call him back, but she didn't. She let him go. He felt strangely hollow, like something had been torn away from him, which he knew was ridiculous but knowing it was ridiculous didn't change how he felt.

As he showered and changed into street clothes he realised he didn't want to be alone and even though he knew it was stupid the only person he really wanted to see right then was Bucky. He sent him a text, _Are you home?_ , knowing there wasn't much chance the answer was going to be yes. It was Saturday night, the night Nat set aside to torture him at the gym, the night the gym was dead quiet _because_ it was Saturday night.

He was surprised to get a response a few minutes later. _Yup._ _Do you want come over?_

_I'm on my way._

It didn't take long to get to Bucky's apartment and he knocked on his door.

"Steve?"

"Hey, Bucky."

Bucky ran his eyes over him, then stepped back out of the way. "Come on in." Steve followed him in and Bucky shut the door behind him, watching Steve with concern. "Everything okay?"

Steve laughed humourlessly. "Not really."

Bucky nodded, as if he wasn't surprised. "Anything I can do?"

He shouldn't, he knew he shouldn't. His feelings were already too strong, he wanted it too much, it was too strange to just ask for, and the hollowness felt too much like loneliness. "I could really use a hug," he found himself saying anyway, not quite looking at Bucky.

Without hesitation, Bucky opened his arms. Steve walked into them and Bucky closed his arms, pulling him in. Steve burrowed into him, drawing in a deep breath, and pressed his face into Bucky's chest. "Do you want to talk about it?" Bucky asked softly.

He shook his head and tried to get closer.

"Okay." Steve liked him so much and his arms felt so good around him, just like Steve had known they would. Bucky slowly stroked one hand down Steve's back and Steve relaxed. He was warm and safe and he knew he should let go, knew he should step back, but he couldn't make himself.

He could feel Bucky weighing something up, and then he was asking, his hand spread wide in the small of Steve's back, "Do you want to stay with me tonight?"

Steve tensed, Natasha's words replaying like insidious whispers in his ear. "I'm ace," he blurted out, dragging himself backwards away from Bucky. "I'm not going to have sex with you."

Surprise washed across Bucky's face. "That's interesting to know, but I wasn't asking if you wanted to have sex." It was Steve's turn to look surprised and Bucky's expression morphed into something gentle. "You seem sad. You asked me for a hug, which I know isn't something you'd usually do, and you seemed to really need it. I'm not trying to get laid. I just don't want you to be alone."

"Oh." Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Well now I feel stupid. And, uh, bad. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It wasn't an unreasonable thing to jump to." He considered Steve. "Ace, huh?" Steve pulled himself up to his full height, ready to...he didn't even know what, but before he could say anything, Bucky held up a hand. "I'm not criticising, I'm not anything, except for saying thanks for trusting me enough to tell me. Just, I guess it's a good thing I never put the moves on you," he said lightly.

"Put the moves on me?" Steve raised one eyebrow, but his heart skipped a beat, because that meant maybe Bucky had thought about it. "Since this isn't the 1970s, yes, it's a good thing you didn't _put the moves_ on me." Bucky's lips curled at the corners, eyes dancing with amusement, and Steve felt the tension slide out of his spine. "And for the record I'm interested in a limited subset of moves. Just not most of the whole package." For one second, he would have sworn Bucky's eyes dropped to his mouth, but the moment passed and Steve decided he must have imagined it. 

There was a beat of silence, then: "A limited subset of moves," Bucky said, obviously fighting back a smile. "That's very mathematical of you."

"Shut up," Steve said, but there was no heat in it.

"Do you want to stay?"

"That'd be great." Already, he was starting to feel more settled, just being with Bucky enough to make him feel better.

 

* * *

 

Bucky insisted on making him dinner and Steve sat at the kitchen table, watching as Bucky moved with ease, turning random leftovers into stir-fry. It was almost like art the way he handled the knife, smoothly working his way through the ingredients. "Will you teach me to cook sometime?"

"Sure." Bucky nodded at the wok. "For now you can can come and stir this."

After they ate, they worked in companionable silence to clean up the kitchen, Steve washing the dishes while Bucky dried and put them away. Steve turned to lean on the counter and watch, much faster at washing than Bucky was at drying. "You could just let them drip."

"This way they're not cluttering up the place." Bucky leaned over Steve to put a bowl in the cupboard over the sink and his body pressed against the length of Steve's. He stopped. Looked down, eyes dark, and his hands fell to rest on the counter on either side of Steve.

He could have felt trapped: Bucky was so much bigger than him, so much stronger, Bucky's arms were caging him in. But he didn't. He felt safe, like nothing could get to him, nothing could touch him. Safe and filled with a longing to get closer. He stepped into Bucky and slid his hands up Bucky's arms. He might be making a mistake, but Bucky wasn't pulling back. Bucky's eyes flashed and he brushed his fingers down Steve's cheek, every movement careful, measured, like he was giving Steve the chance to move away. Steve tipped his head back in invitation and then Bucky was kissing him, lips soft and gentle. Steve leaned into him, leaned into the kiss, leaned into Bucky's hand, was surrounded by Bucky and it was so good.

Gradually, they pulled apart, Bucky's hand slipping down to curve around the nape of Steve's neck. "I really like you, Bucky," Steve said. "I'd really like to do something about it. I don't suppose you'd be interested in dating me?"

"I can't." His hands fell to his sides. Steve thought he'd have backed away, except Steve's hands were still on his arms. "I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry."

"Oh." He let his hands fall. "That kiss kind of felt like you meant it." He paused, a slow curl of hurt making him push back against the counter, away from Bucky. "Is it because I'm ace, because of the no sex thing?"

"No! Steve, no. I don't care. I mean, I care, but we could work around it. It's not." Bucky dragged his fingers through his hair. "It's not you, it's me."

Steve straightened, glaring at him. "If you're not interested, just tell me. Don't do that, using bullshit clichés."

"It really is, though." Bucky reached out, hesitated, then closed his hand around Steve's shoulder. "I'm aromantic." Steve blinked up at him, because of all the things he'd thought Bucky might say he hadn't expected that. "I _can't_ feel about you the way you feel about me. Can't like you like that, can't fall for you, can't fall in love with you. What you feel? I can't feel it back. Ever. So I can't be with you."

Suddenly, what Natasha had told him made a sort of sense. "That's why no one's seen you date anyone."

"How do you know that?"

"Nat." He grimaced. "Sorry. Apparently gym people gossip a lot."

"That's why you thought I was talking about sex when I asked if you wanted to stay with me tonight?" Steve nodded. "I'm actually relieved. I thought it might have been something I did."

"No, just me being an idiot and listening to gossip that says you only have sex with people and nothing else." There was a long pause in which Bucky just looked at him. "Oh."

"That way no one expects anything from me that I can't give them."

It made his heart ache a little and he twisted his fingers in the hem of Bucky's shirt, thinking. Wondering. Turning over how he felt. Finally, he asked, "What if I don't care? What if I didn't expect anything from you?"

"Steve." The way Bucky said his name, so gently, like it was something fragile and precious, made Steve shiver. Bucky closed his hands over Steve's. "You're one of the most amazing people I've ever met. You need someone who can feel what you feel, who can give you back everything you give them."

"You don't care that I can't have sex with you. You said we could work around it. Why should I care if you can't feel the same way I do? It doesn't change how I feel about you."

"They're not really the same thing. You can't exactly duck into the other room and love yourself then come back for a cuddle." He paused, corner of his mouth pulling up. "Not a euphemism there."

Steve smiled briefly. "Do you like me?"

A brief look of frustration crossed Bucky's face. "I told you, I can't—"

"No, I don't mean like in grade school, _do you like-like me,_ " he said in a sing-song, pulling a reluctant smile out of Bucky. "I mean are you happy when we're together? Do you like being with me?"

"I do, Steve. More than anyone else. You're one of my, no. I think you are my favourite person." He glanced away. "And not to make you uncomfortable or anything, but I'm incredibly attracted to you."

"You are?"

"Yeah. You're," he shook his head and blew out a breath, "let's just say I've been spending a lot of time in the other room loving myself."

Steve's ears went pink. "Oh. That's, huh." He wasn't sure how to react. He waited to feel uncomfortable or pressured but all he felt was...he wasn't sure. Vaguely pleased that Bucky found him attractive, which was so far from what he'd normally feel he didn't quite know what to do with it. "I didn't know that."

"I tried to make sure you didn't know."

Steve nodded to himself, not surprised. "Would you want to date me?"

Bucky looked torn. "It's not that simple."

"What if we tried?" Steve wrapped his fingers around Bucky's hand. "We'd both be giving things up, because I'm not going to have sex with you."

"I know."

"Except I'm not sure what you'd be getting out it," he said, suddenly uncertain, staring at their hands. Because really, what _would_ Bucky be getting? If there was no emotional pay-off and no sex, what would the point even be for Bucky? "I'm basically asking you to give up sex and you'd be getting nothing in return."

"Steve."

"Of course you don't want to. Why would you want to?" Steve would be getting everything and Bucky would be getting nothing. He tried to let go of Bucky's hands but he couldn't, because Bucky had grabbed hold and was pulling him closer. "That was a stupid idea, wasn't it? I shouldn't have—"

"Steve!"

He stopped and looked up at Bucky, who took a deep breath. "You'd have to tell me what the ground rules are. What's okay and what's not, and I'm probably going to screw it up a few times."

"Are you saying…?"

"I'm saying _I'd get something out of it_. Being with you makes me happy. I'd get to kiss you and touch you right up to where you draw the line and I really, really want to do that. I still think you should be with someone who can feel what you feel, but," he pulled in another deep breath, "but if it's what you want, I'm willing to try."

The whole world went still as Bucky's words sunk in and Steve felt the tiny seed of warmth that had sprouted in his heart explode into full growth, unfurling to spread through his entire body. "Can I kiss you again?"

Bucky's quick laugh was tinged with nervousness. "Steve, you can always kiss me. I think that's probably supposed to be more my line, anyway."

He reached up to cup Bucky's face with both hands, smoothing his thumbs across Bucky's cheekbones. "You can always kiss _me_. I love kissing. Kiss me anytime. Don't ever stop kissing me."

Bucky took him at his word, sliding one hand into Steve's hair as he bent his head and kissed him, still gentle, tentative, like he was asking Steve to show him what he wanted. Steve went up on his toes, slid his arms around Bucky's neck, and pressed into the kiss. Bucky flattened his other hand against Steve's back to support him and hold him close. Carefully, he nipped at Bucky's bottom lip, felt his moment of surprise as Steve's tongue touched his, then Bucky took the lead, kissing him deep and long before slowly gentling it, letting it turn into tiny kisses, feather-light, pressed against Steve's mouth, his cheek, his forehead, before Bucky finally pulled back.

Wide-eyed, halfway to overwhelmed, Steve stared up at him. Bucky smiled and touched Steve's cheek. "Okay?"

"Very okay." It was more than very okay, but he didn't quite have the words. His heart was fluttering, his sudden happiness warring with his understanding that this wasn't going to be simple. This wasn't going to be easy. But Steve was going to try his hardest to make this work.

 

* * *

 

It took awhile before Bucky stopped expecting every meeting with Steve to be the time Steve ended it. He kept expecting Steve to want what Bucky couldn't give him. He didn't, seemed content with what Bucky _could_ give. He felt like it wasn't much.  

He was excellent at sex, but Steve had no use for that. Though Bucky could use _some_ of those skills— _a limited subset,_ which was never going to stop making him chuckle—to make him happy. Kissing, for a start, which Steve really enjoyed. And Steve never seemed to get enough of being held and stroked and touched. Bucky was learning his hard lines and his soft lines, what was variable and what wasn't, and Steve was good about telling him where those lines were.

Steve kept coming back and they kept spending time together, kept dating. Bucky kind of missed sex, but he had a hand and a credit card and there was an _amazing_ variety of sex toys available, so it wasn't like he was lacking for options. He wouldn't have been lacking for options involving other people—the fact that he was dating didn't stop them from offering; they didn't care that he'd lose Steve—but he wasn't really interested. No one quite measured up to Steve. Not to how damned attracted Bucky was to him, even if he knew he'd never precisely get to act on it, and not to how good it felt to be with Steve, to see how happy Steve was to be with _him._

Any doubts he'd had left about his decision to try this thing with Steve were gone the first time he got to _sleep_ with him. They'd stayed up way too late watching a Killer Tomatoes movie marathon, snarky comments turning into tired mumbles, and Steve was sprawled in his lap, half-asleep.

"Just stay," Bucky said, turning off the TV.

"But I hate your couch."

"So don't sleep on the couch. Sleep with me."

"Really?"

"Of course." Bucky looked down at him, at Steve's sudden smile. "I didn't know you wanted to or I would have offered before this." Bucky pushed Steve to his feet and hauled himself up. "Come on."

There were enough of Steve's clothes kicking around he found something to sleep in and crawled in next to Bucky. "You're going to spoon me, right?" he demanded.

"I'm afraid to say no," Bucky said with a laugh. "But I'm probably going to end up with."

He stopped and Steve looked at him with a puzzled expression, then he grinned. "Boner?" Bucky huffed. "Hard-on? Pocket rocket? Woody? Chubby?"

"Please stop."

"You're the one who forgot the word."

"I didn't forget the word."

"You've had erections before, Bucky. You know they don't bother me."

"Yes, but we weren't spooning in bed. I didn't know if that would change things."

"Just don't rub it against me and everything will be fine."

Bucky was pretty sure Steve was teasing, but he couldn't stop himself from catching Steve's chin and meeting his eyes. "I wouldn't do that," he said seriously. "I know how you feel."  

Steve's expression softened and he leaned forward to gently kiss Bucky. "I know you wouldn't." Bucky kissed him back, letting his fingers linger on his skin, then Steve turned over and snuggled against his chest. Bucky curved around him, tucking his knees in the bend of Steve's, and folded his arm around Steve's waist to pull him against his body. He felt more than heard Steve let out a long sigh and Steve's whole body went limp, relaxing against him. Bucky pressed his nose into Steve's hair. "G'night, Bucky."

"Night, Steve." Steve was asleep in minutes, taking long slow breaths, and he stayed awake for awhile, enjoying the feel of Steve asleep in his arms. When he finally drifted off it was deep and quiet and his dreams were steeped in safety and peace.

After that, Steve spent more and more nights at Bucky's place. Ended up with a drawer, then several drawers, then with art things scattered all over the apartment, his stuff in the bathroom, their clothes mixed up together in the laundry.

Bucky woke up one morning with Steve drooling onto the pillow next to him, his arm flung over Bucky's chest. He looked around his bedroom and realised that half of what he could see wasn't his.

It was Steve's.

The answer seemed obvious.

 

* * *

 

"Drink this." Steve blinked at the coffee that suddenly appeared under his nose. "You've been painting for three hours without a break. Drink the coffee and then you can go back to it."

"What?"

With a deep sigh and roll of his eyes towards the ceiling as if asking for patience, Bucky wiggled the coffee mug. "You drink coffee then you go back to painting because you idiot who doesn't take breaks."

"Oh, right." Steve took the mug and Bucky sat on the edge of the weight bench with a mug of his own. They were in Bucky's exercise room, most of the equipment shoved against the wall to make room for Steve's easel and a whole pile of his other art things. "Thanks."

Steve sipped his coffee, paint brush still in his other hand. Bucky was staring at him, brows pulled down, an unfamiliar expression on his face, and Steve sighed. He'd been acting weird all day. "Spit it out, will you? Your face is going to freeze like that and attractive as you are even you can't pull off those eyebrows forever."

"Move in with me." Steve gaped at him. "Face it, you practically live here already. This," he gestured around the room, "I'm pretty sure this has more of your art stuff in it than is left at your place." Bucky sipped his coffee, watching Steve over the top of his mug.

"Bucky, I." He stopped and really thought about it. Realised that the idea of living with Bucky, of waking up to him every day, of going to sleep with him every night, was everything he'd ever wanted and more than he'd ever thought he could have and here Bucky was, just offering it to him. "Are you sure?"

Bucky stood and stepped forward to cup the back of Steve's head, bent to kiss his hair. "I'm sure if you are."

"Then yes, moving in with you sounds wonderful. I can't think of anything I'd rather do." He took a deep breath. "Are you as shit scared as I am?"

Bucky took another sip of his coffee. "Definitely."

Steve laughed softly. "As long as I'm not alone."

"No, you're not. That's the whole point of this. Of us. Right?"

Steve looked up at Bucky, seeing a faint hint of uncertainty lurking in his eyes, then carefully set down his mug and his brush and held out his arms. Bucky walked into them and Steve wrapped him up tight. "Yes it is. And you're not either."

 

* * *

 

They'd been living together for two months and the best thing about it, Bucky had decided, was sleeping with Steve every night. There were a lot of good things, a lot of things they were still adjusting to, a lot of things that were going to take time, but they were working on them. But every night he got to sleep with Steve and for that he was willing to put in whatever work was necessary.

Warm and content, Steve plastered against his back, Bucky was drifting.  He could tell Steve was almost asleep from the little noises he was making, half-formed words and nonsense sentences. Then Steve shifted, pressed his forehead against Bucky's back, and murmured, "I love you," as clear as a bell.

Bucky's eyes opened wide and he felt Steve go still.

"I'm sorry." Steve let go, sliding backwards across the bed, and Bucky rolled over to face him. "Shit." He rubbed his hands over his face. "I didn't mean to."

Bucky caught Steve's hands and gently pulled them away from his face. He was filled with a strange stillness where once he'd only have felt panic and a burning desire to get away. "Didn't mean to say it or didn't mean to feel it?"

Steve gave a shaky laugh. "Bucky. I was always going to feel it. But I never meant to say it. I'm sorry. Could you just pretend I didn't open my stupid mouth?"

"Why?" He felt like something was hanging in the balance. He needed Steve's answer to be _right_ —which wasn't fair, because he didn't know what the right answer was.

"Because...because I don't know. You don't feel it so I feel like I shouldn't throw it in your face? You didn't ask me to love you but," he stopped, obviously thinking, then he reached out and pressed his hand over Bucky's heart, "but you didn't ever ask me not to. You never said, Steve, I can't love you so don't love me. So I did, I do, but maybe you don't want to know, maybe you don't want to see it." His eyes searched Bucky's face. "I just don't want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you."

It was the right answer. He caught Steve's hand, kissed his palm. "Could you say it again?"

"I love you, Bucky." Serious, solemn, there could be no doubting that he meant it. It sent a jolt through him, a good jolt, hot and intense, and he shifted closer to Steve.

"Again?"

Now Steve was smiling. "I love you." Bucky shivered. "It's okay if I tell you?"

"It's more than okay. I just found out that I like it." He lifted Steve's hand and kissed each knuckle. "Maybe it sounds selfish when I can't feel it back, but I think I really like it that you love me." Then Steve was kissing him and he was kissing Steve and there wasn't a lot of room left in his head for thinking.

 

* * *

 

Steve wasn't the first person to say _I love you_ to him. He probably wasn't even the first person to mean it. But he was the first person to say it that didn't fill Bucky with a creeping sense of dread, that didn't make him want to run, as far and as fast as he could, because Steve offered it like a gift. There was no anticipation, no moment of echoing silence after the words, a void of expectation Bucky could never fill.

Steve knew Bucky didn't feel it, couldn’t feel it, and he didn't care. He loved Bucky like Bucky was oxygen and gravity and sunlight, sometimes he almost glowed with it, and it was enough for him that Bucky was with him, that Bucky shared his life, that Bucky _was_.

It was how Bucky discovered something entirely new about himself.

Steve wouldn't always stay with him when he jerked off, his tolerance for being there as variable as the weather. That had been one of their first arguments, Steve trying to push himself when he was incredibly uncomfortable. He'd tried to hide it, but Bucky had noticed; hard not to when the person curled against your back is tense as steel wire and nothing kills the mood faster than knowing he's fighting not to flee the room. Steve hadn't done it again, was always up front now about when he could, when he couldn't, and when he didn't want to.

The times Steve would stay with him, though, when he would lie behind Bucky while Bucky worked himself in long, slow strokes—Steve's arm wrapped around his chest, Steve's skin against his, Steve's breath warm against his neck—those times were unbelievably good. But the day Steve leaned up and whispered _I love you_ in his ear he came harder than he'd ever come in his life.

Nothing turned him on more than Steve loving him. It was beyond Bucky's comprehension, he thought it was utterly perverse given what he was, but it was undeniably glorious.

Slowly, like a leaf unfolding, he realised he loved Steve. It wasn't what Steve felt, he knew that, but he had no doubt that it _was_ a kind of love.

There was a space inside his chest that didn't belong to him. It belonged to Steve, was shaped around their life together, around their shared moments. Shaped around the big ones—moving in together, Steve's first _I love you,_ rewriting wills and powers of attorney, recovering from that first terrifying, foundation-shaking fight. Even more, it was shaped around the small moments—brushing their teeth together, knowing what to order for Steve in every takeout place in town, watching Steve when he painted and when he slept and when he cradled his coffee, cranky as a bear with a hangover. Those mattered more than he'd ever have thought possible.

It was shaped around the liberties Steve allowed him that he'd _never_ allow anyone else: the way he'd let Bucky haul him into his lap, let Bucky push him up against the wall and kiss him until Bucky couldn't think. Let Bucky touch him and hold him and stroke his skin. It wasn't sex, but it was almost as good. It was almost better.

And through it all _I love you_ was Steve's constant gift to him.

It made him realise he had a gift he could offer Steve.  

 

* * *

 

As Steve walked into the living room, Bucky looked up from where he was sitting on the couch. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Steve paused, momentarily taken aback, because that wasn't exactly a normal thing for him to say. "Sure, Bucky."

Bucky held out his hand and Steve took it, Bucky pulling him down to sit next to him. "I need to say something to you, but I need you to understand what I'm saying and what I'm not."

There was a stone in Steve's heart, pulling it down into his stomach. He'd hoped this day would never come, had let himself believe it never would, that what they had would be enough. But Bucky's face was so serious, his eyes so deep, and while his hand _was_ wrapped around Steve's, holding him in place, that was all. Their fingers weren't twined together, he wasn't reaching out to drag Steve closer, seemed to be keeping a careful distance. "It's okay, Bucky," he said, managing a small smile that felt nothing close to real. He squeezed Bucky's hand, trying to be reassuring and warm, because no matter what happened he loved Bucky, would always love Bucky. "I think I know what you're going to say and it's okay."

Bucky's brows drew down and he studied Steve. "I don't think you do. You look like you're about to be sick, so I think you've got no idea what I'm about to say." Shaking his head, he leaned forward, pressed two fingers under Steve's chin, and kissed him, incredibly gently, and Steve couldn't help but return it, couldn't help but lean into it. "It's not bad, I just need you to understand."

Steve swayed forward, light bursting inside him, chasing away the darkness. "You're not breaking up with me?"

"What?" His eyes went wide. "No. Steve, _no_. I'm telling you I love you."

His heart stopped. "Bucky?"

"I'm still who I am. I'm always going to be who I am, just like you're always going to be who you are. We don't mean the same thing when we say it and we're never going to. But you're the person I love more than anyone else in the world. I wanted you to know that." Bucky's smile was small and a little uncertain and Steve couldn't stop himself from leaning in to catch Bucky's face between his hands and kiss him. Bucky pulled him into his arms and dragged him into his lap. When they came up for air, Bucky nuzzled Steve's cheek and said, "I'm guessing that's okay with you?"

"As long as you're okay. I don't need to hear you say I love you. I don't need to hear you say anything. I just need you to be you, Bucky. That's all I've ever needed."

"I know. You're the only person I've ever met that when you say I love you it's not a question waiting for an answer." He ran his hand slowly down Steve's spine, fingers pulling up Steve's shirt to rest against his skin. "I'm not going to be saying it all the time. It's not," he paused, looking for the right words, "I'm not comfortable with that. But I wanted you to know."

Steve felt humbled, his love for Bucky flowing over him and through him until he could hardly breathe with it. He made himself take a deep breath, giving himself a chance to settle, and rested his forehead against Bucky's. "Thank you."

Bucky's fingers gently stroked his skin. "I can't believe you thought I was breaking up with you."

"You were so serious, and you weren't," he hesitated and Bucky nudged him, encouraging him to keep going, "you weren't really touching me. You always touch me."

"I was _trying_ to keep a clear head. That's not exactly easy if I'm touching you."

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. Your brain does sort of go offline sometimes."

Bucky buried his face in Steve's shoulder. "Just a little bit," he said, sounding amused. "But I'll remember next time I have to tell you something serious: make sure I'm touching you."

"It'd help," Steve admitted, running his fingers through Bucky's hair. "I love you, Bucky."

"And there goes any chance of a clear head," Bucky muttered, kissing Steve's neck. Steve laughed and wrapped his arms around Bucky as Bucky pulled him closer and they held onto each other like they were never going to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> There are infinite ways that people can be asexual and aromantic and everything in between. This is not meant to represent one true way, just one, or I guess two, possible ways.


End file.
